


Let Your Skin Begin To Blend Itself With Mine

by trashcangimmick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Codependency, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Dean, Omega Verse, Power Dynamics, Sibling Incest, This is made of sin, Unhealthy Relationships, wet and messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: “Oh comely, I will be with you when you lose your breath. Chasing the only meaningful memory you thought you had left.”Omega Dean needs his cookies and Alpha Sam hands them over.





	Let Your Skin Begin To Blend Itself With Mine

**Author's Note:**

> [Title from the Neutral Milk Hotel song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-fjyEIgWik)
> 
> Mildly dubious consent because, y'know, Omegaverse.

Dean is nobody’s bitch.  

He can disassemble an assault rifle and put it back together quicker than any navy SEAL. He knows which bones break easiest, and where to cut if you want someone to bleed out. His skin is rough, patchy mess of scars and burns. He is a killer. A predator among predators. A moment of weakness might as well be a death sentence. 

Every single one of his fake ID’s and forged birth certificates lists him as an Alpha. He looks the part. Square jawed. Broad shouldered. Nothing but ropey muscle. Running on fumes and pure spite. 

Maybe all his airs of grandeur just make it hurt more when biology kicks in. But he'd be the last to admit it. 

“Dean.”

“Shut up. I’m fine.”

_ “Dean.” _

“I said I’m fine, goddamn it! We’re so fuckin’ close. I know we are. We just gotta—”

Sam wraps one of his impossibly large hands around the back of Dean’s neck and squeezes. It's a good thing the car ain't moving. If it were, Dean mighta swerved off the road. The contact sends an electric chill down his spine. He wants to tell himself that the damp all over feeling is just sweat, but deep down he knows it's not. 

He lets his head fall back. Groans. That blood sucking sonofabitch is gonna get away, isn't he?

“Don't take this the wrong way. But I’m not sure you’re in peak condition to start up a war with an entire vampire coven…”

“We don't know it's a coven.” The tone probably misses gruff and tumbles right over into petulant.

“When do Vampires that old ever travel alone? I’m not saying we can't take him. I’m saying our chances are probably better if we wait a few days.”

“Cuz I’m weak and defenseless?” Dean snaps. Jerking out of Sam’s grip. 

“I didn't say that. You're verging on delirious and I just don't want you to get hurt.”

God. He sounds so condescending. He's got that  _ look _ , like an exhausted kindergarten teacher. Like Dean is the most unreasonable, idiotic person that's ever lived. 

Why is it sexy?

Dean knows he's got more than a few screws loose. But that still don't quite explain it. Probably the damn hormones pumping through his blood.

Sammy smells real good right about now. Like brand new leather and gun oil…

“Do you want to drive us back to the motel?” Sam reaches out again, gently scratches Dean’s scalp. 

It has no right to feel so good. Dean might let out a little whimper. 

“Or…” Sam leans in. “If you just wanna relax, maybe I could take over for a bit, huh?”

They both know that Dean's in no state to drive. That's why they pulled over. Because Dean was getting hot flashes and having trouble keeping the wheel steady. 

But Sammy’s always been smart enough to make everything sound like a choice. Knows that Dean will balk if pressured. Bite when cornered. Really, it was a good thing they moved around so much during school. Dean clawed up more than a few Alphas when they caught a whiff of his natural scent and got ideas above their station. 

Of course, he wears scent blockers these days. Doesn't have to deal with that sort of crap anymore. But he’s still a domineering little shit at the best of times. On his cycle, he's downright insane. 

“Fine,” Dean huffs. “I’m tired, so I  _ guess _ you can drive.”

He’s still not gonna pretend to be happy about climbing over into the passenger’s seat. Sam gets out of the car and walks around to the other side. He starts up the engine and they glide off back in the direction of town. 

The world is blurry at the edges. Dean can't stop squirming. Shifting around. His clothes are so itchy. The fabric is constrictive. Too rough. He wants to be naked. 

He wants a lot of things. Most of them sitting in the driver’s seat. 

He can tell Sam’s all hot under the collar too. He’s breathing a little too fast. Keeps licking his lips. Nostrils flaring. 

Sammy’s so pretty. Always has been. With those big blue eyes. Floppy hair. Crooked smile. If he weren't a fucking giant, people would probably mistake him for an Omega. He’s got that softness about him. Talks quiet. Touches gentle. Always hunching over, folding in on himself to seem less threatening. 

He drives Dean up the goddamn wall. In all the ways an annoying little brother is supposed to. And then in even more ways he isn't. 

It's fucked up. Probably. Dean lost track of ‘normal’ so long ago it's hard to care. It's the way they've always been. If Sammy needs something, Dean gives it to him. When Dean gets all whacked out and desperate, who the hell else is he supposed to lean on? The only other living person he trusts is Bobby and that'd be… well, that’d be even more fucked up. 

“You've been taking your pills, right? Or should I stop at the gas station?” Sammy rests his palm on Dean’s knee. It's really fucking distracting. Dean wants to just grab Sam’s hand and guide it to the place that's already slick and aching. 

Wait, he asked a question didn't he?

“Course I been takin’ the pills. No flipper babies on my watch. We’re fine. Can we go any faster?”

Sam lets out a small sigh. He would rather Dean be more PC but he's not gonna start a fight about it right now. It's one of the few upsides of this terrible ordeal. Sam is less of a god awful nag. 

 

***

 

They manage to make it back to the motel room without Dean crawling out of his own skin or deciding to strip in the car, public indecency laws be damned. The second the door closes behind them, all bets are off. They're kissing. Smearing their mouths together, wet and messy. It's like a hit of ecstasy straight to the crotch. 

Dean has damn near soaked through his jeans. He wiggles out of them fast as he can while still licking into Sam's mouth. 

In the fog of the heat, Dean usually forgets why he hates this so much. He feels like a god. Pure, pulsing energy. So high he’ll never come down. 

Much like an acid trip, the beginning is always the most intense. He’s all wobbly. Dazed. Everything is melting light and color. 

He grabs Sam by the front of the shirt and drags him towards the bed. Their dad always used to say Dean was strong. For an  _ omega.  _ Dean totally doesn't have a complex about it. He certainly doesn’t have trouble throwing Sammy onto the mattress and ripping his clothes off.

“Woah there…” Sam smiles, “somebody’s eager.”

_ “Mine,” _ is all Dean manages to grind out.

He’s gonna shut Sam up soon enough. He crawls up the bed, straddling Sam’s narrow hips. Grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes. It’s blood-hot. Thick. Feels great in his hand. It’s gonna feel even better inside him. 

Growing up, Dean was real jealous of what Sam had in his pants. Some people would call what Dean’s got more of a clit than anything. Just a couple inches long. Not like he has balls. He’s got folds of soft, pink skin. A pussy. He’s spent most of his life being mad about it. 

Except for moments like this. 

When he sinks down onto Sammy’s cock, all slippery and sweet, he’s too blissed out to deal with the crushing dysphoria of daily life. 

“Fuck,” Sam gasps. Eyes closed. Neck stretched back in an elegant curve. He should be in movies and magazines.

Instead, he’s all Dean’s.

The slap of wet skin echoes through the room. If Dean knows one thing, it’s how to ride _. _ Bouncing up and down on Sam’s cock is one of his all time favorite activities. He’s a rippling wave of pleasure. Can’t think straight. Can’t hardly breathe. All that matters is the chase. 

Sam’s hands trace up Dean’s thighs. Setting off fires under his skin. He doesn’t try to grab or force anything. Just ends up resting his hands on Dean’s hips. So he can drag a thumb over Dean’s dick.

It’s a sharp jolt. Enough to get Dean peaking. Trembling thighs. High-pitched moaning. And Dean gushes just everywhere. 

In the hum of the universe, and the seconds in the aftershocks, spasming muscle, pulsing chemicals, blood buzzing with dreamy longing, Dean might have found religion. He’d be happy to worship at the altar carnal sin for the rest of his life. If only he could feel this way all the time.

He barely notices that Sam is rolling them over. If Dean weren’t limp and boneless, he might protest to being on his back. As it is, he just lets it happen. Moans when Sam sinks into him again, and again, teasing over-excited nerves until they’re coiling to pop.

When Sammy was at school, Dean tried sex with a few other Alphas. He hated it. The way they pinned him down and mounted him. The way they tried to talk to him.  _ Take it slut. That’s right. Gonna breed you good. Knock you up. You were made for this.  _ The sex itself was OK. The had knots, and that’s what he wanted. But he ended up having to gag one of them. Because the fucktard just wouldn’t shut up. 

Sam mouths at his neck. Let’s out all those small, soft sounds. He cradles Dean close like something precious. 

_ I love you, I love you, I love you _ .

Between kisses. Whispered against skin. Dean comes again when he feels Sam’s knot starting to swell. And immediately after it catches and locks inside him. It’s difficult to say if it’s two separate orgasms, or just one that kept going. He’s a shivering mess. Drenched in slick. 

“So beautiful, you’re so perfect,” Sam murmurs. Holding Dean close. Soothing. Home and comfort. 

In a few days, Dean might resent this. Might remember that he hates how Sammy coddles him. Might hate himself because he loves this feeling. Like everything is right in the world. Sammy’s got him, and it's gonna be OK. 

Time drags past without meaning. Dean starts to rock his hips. He can't move much. Just ends up grinding on Sam’s knot. With Sam rubbing his cock, he manages to come again. 

He’s silly putty. Sprawled across the bed. Vision unfocused. Breathing hot and heavy. 

Sam’s knot goes down and he pulls out. It's a terrible feeling. Being empty. Dean sticks a few fingers in himself. Doesn't work completely, but it's better than nothing. He feels the mattress creak. Doesn't register what it means until Sam is standing at the side of the bed, petting his hair, and asking if he wants some water. 

Dean downs the entire glass. The cool liquid flowing down his throat does nothing to break the fever. He's so tired. Shuts his eyes for just a minute. 

 

***

 

When he wakes up in the dark, wet and aching, it reminds him of the first time. 

It reminds him of another dingy motel, in a different state, alone with Sammy. Both much too young. Scared and confused. Afraid Dean was sick. Dying. 

After a few fumbling attempts, Sammy figured out how to make it better. 

When Dean reaches behind him, finds Sam hard, and just presses back against him, it's muscle memory. Habit. Rocking together in the middle of the night. 

Sam grunts. Starts to thrust, half awake. He drapes an arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer. Dean is dripping. Sam feels so good it hurts. Pushing slow and deep. Rubbing against all those wonderful places that fingers can't reach. 

“Yeah, that’s it darlin’,” Dean’s voice is sandpaper. “You love how my cunt feels dontcha?”

Sam’s breath hitches. It absolutely ruins him when Dean starts spitting filth. And now that Dean’s oozed away some of the wild hormones and is a little more cognizant, the real fun is about to begin. 

“Nothing’ you’d rather do than squelch around in your big brother’s pussy.”

“Fuck,” Sam starts to move a little faster. 

Dean matches him. Bucks back against his rhythm. 

“I know what gets you off baby boy,” he laughs softly. Fists his hand in Sammy’s hair and tugs. “You just wanna be my nasty whore. Make me come as many times as you can before your little cock wears out and you have to knot.”

Dean turns his head. Nips at Sam’s shoulder. At anything he can reach. Grabs one of Sam’s huge hands and guides it down towards his throbbing dick. Sam takes the hint. Touches Dean just like he was taught to. 

“So good for me, Sammy,” Dean breathes. 

He’s pretty keyed up, still. Feels like he’s had more than a few shots of whiskey. He spreads his legs wider. Hooks a knee over Sammy’s thigh. He’s right on the edge. Starting to tense. It’s not gonna take much more.

“You close?” Sam sounds strained. Well. That’s just delicious.

“Why? You gonna come already, sweetheart?”

“M-maybe…?”

Dean tightens his grip on Sam’s hair. It’s gotta be painful. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please?”

“I dunno… I think you can beg prettier than that.”

Sam mumbles something. Completely unintelligible. That won’t do. Dean wants to finish just as bad as anybody, but not until he’s gotten a complete surrender.

He pulls away abruptly. Sam whines at the loss. It’s easy to manhandle him over onto his back. Sprawl on top of him. Tease the tip of his cock over Dean’s slick, swollen flesh, without quite letting it dip inside.

“You’re gonna have to speak up,” Dean laughs. Sucks a bruise onto Sammy’s collar bone. Making him squirm.

“I—Dean, come on—”

“Nuh uh uh…” Dean tisks. Sinks down onto Sam’s cock painfully slow just to pull right back off it again. Taps him on the cheek. “You know how to make this end.”

“Pretty please?” Sam offers. Weak, near defeat.

“That all you got?” Dean growls.

“Please let me knot you,” Sam starts to babble. “I want to so bad, Dean. Fuck. Wanna fill you up. Feel you squeeze down around me. I fucking love it when you make a mess all over me.  _ Please.” _

Dean slams onto Sammy’s dick. Fast and hard. The sheer wrongness of it all just makes it taste so much sweeter. He leans down enough to lick a kiss out of Sam’s mouth and that’s all it takes. Sam knots, and Dean squirts, and they’re both a goddamned wreck.

It’s all Dean can do to slump over and drown in the feeling. 

 

***

 

Two days later, after a long hot shower, and an immense tower of pancakes at the Village Inn, Dean feels pretty much back to normal. Maybe a little sore. But that’s about it. Sammy’s got that stupid sexed up grin on his face. He’s practically glowing. Like he’s the one that got pumped full of enough jizz to drown a medium-sized dog.

He won’t stop staring. Dean can feel it. Even though he kinda has to keep his eyes on the road, every time he glances over, Sammy is still looking at him. All happy and soft.

It’s as heartwarming as it is disgusting. 

“Got anything you wanna share with the class, there, champ?” Dean cocks an eyebrow. 

“Nope. Just uh… ready to kill some Vampires, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I love you.”

Ugh. He always pulls those gut punches when you least expect it. Dean tightens his grip on the wheel. Looks straight ahead.

“I love you too. Now no more mushy crap for another three months, you hear me?” 

“Yes sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the [tumbles.](http://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/)


End file.
